


Lessons on Wakandan Flora

by Tarash



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Aphrodisiac Plants, Aphrodisiacs, Bottom Sam Wilson, Dubious Consent, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Present Tense, Sex Pollen, Top T'Challa (Marvel), Wakanda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2018-11-29 04:41:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11433363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarash/pseuds/Tarash
Summary: Sam visits Wakanda and decides to go for a walk outside of the city. During his walk, he's hit by the spores of a plant that has very strong aphrodisiac effects. Fortunately, T'Challa is willing to help him deal with that.





	Lessons on Wakandan Flora

“Come to Wakanda,” Steve said.

“T’Challa is fine with it,” Steve said.

“You could do with a break. Think of it as a holiday,” Steve said.

 _Please keep me company while they’re trying to help Bucky,_ Steve didn’t say.

Sam comes, of course, because even if the only thing he’ll be doing is sit in meetings while Wakandan scientists talk about neurobiology and transmitters and neurons at him, it’s still a break.

And Wakanda does look great, from the few pictures Steve sent.

*

Upon arrival and upon meeting T’Challa and his carefully neutral expression, Sam suspects that T’Challa is not so much ‘fine’ with Sam’s visit, as he chose to allow it for his own personal, quite possibly diplomatic, reasons.

“This is more beautiful than I expected,” Sam admits, as T’Challa stands next to him and they look out the window. The view is lush and green, and the mountains are stunning.

T’Challa shrugs, as if a breath-taking view is something he sees every day. Well, he probably does. “You are not here for the view.”

“No, but it’s a nice bonus.” He eyes T’Challa. “How are things progressing?”

T’Challa is silent for a long time. “Slowly,” he says eventually. Then he turns to Sam with a polite smile. “How were your briefings on Wakanda?”

“Informative,” Sam replies, because two can play that game, “and thorough.” Very thorough. He’s been briefed on Wakandan history, its culture, its traditions, its etiquette, its flora, its fauna, and Sam is pretty sure he’s forgotten half of it already. At least most of the day to day stuff is common sense, and being polite and explaining he’s new to the country goes a long way with the locals.

“You are enjoying your stay?” T’Challa asks.

“Yes.” Despite the briefings and spending a lot of time with Steve being frustrated and confused, it really is a very nice break. “I don’t get to do a lot of travelling unless there’s, y’know.” He gestures vaguely, trying to convey ‘lots of shit going down and exploding while fighting for your life’.

T’Challa nods. “Ah, of course. Well, I hope your stay here will be most uneventful, then.”

“Yeah, me too.” He thinks he sees a slight smile on T’Challa’s face. Hey, that’s something. “I was thinking of going for a walk outside of the city today. See how beautiful that jungle is from up close.”

T’Challa frowns a little. “It can be very dangerous out there…”

“Hey, look, I’m not gonna be gone for long, I’m not gonna go very far, and I’m not gonna do anything stupid,” Sam tells him. “I just feel like I’ve been inside for most of my stay, and that’s a shame.”

“That is a shame,” T’Challa agrees. “Very well. You have been briefed, and so long as you do not stray too far, you should be fine. You have the contact information of the Dora Milaje?”

“Of course.” The women have been nothing but polite to Sam so far, having briefed him on some of the etiquette and traditions of the country, especially those concerning the royal family. Sam is pretty sure that they’ll be able to get him out of any scrap he might find himself in. “I’ll be gone for two, three hours at the most.”

“Bring enough food and water with you,” T’Challa tells him.

“I will,” Sam replies. “The main thing I remember from that botanist explaining the local flora to me was that any plant that won’t actually kill me if I eat it, will definitely leave me wishing I had.”

There’s a slightly bigger smile on T’Challa’s face now. “I fear she may have been a little overzealous. Most plants in the area are completely harmless, Sam. Some have very useful medicinal properties.”

“Hm-mm. I’m gonna play it safe and bring my own lunch, if you don’t mind,” Sam replies, glad he’s finally having a conversation with T’Challa that isn’t them sniping at each other or fighting. “If Steve asks, just tell him I’ve gone for a walk and will be back in the evening.”

*

The lush green of the Wakandan jungle looks even more beautiful up close, and the various flowers are stunning. Their colours are rich in a way Sam’s never seen in flowers before, or maybe he’s just never paid enough attention to notice.

It’s a shame he’s not allowed to take any pictures, though, but then Sam’s pretty sure that the camera on his phone won’t accurately capture how beautiful the plants and flowers are anyway.

He ate lunch before leaving, so he has only brought some water and fruit with him, since he wasn’t planning on taking a long hike. Maybe tomorrow or the day after, once he has had time to go over a map and plan a good route with the help of T’Challa or anyone else who knows the area well enough.

There’s a fork in the path, and he takes the narrower path that leads upwards. He can still see the spires and towers of the city, and this is only the second fork he’s come across so far.

He’s still wondering if he should try for a hike up the mountains tomorrow or stick to the jungle when he suddenly smells something wonderful and sweet. He looks around to see what the source of that scent is, and further up to his right he spots a plant he hasn’t seen before on his walk.

It’s a bush of some sorts, three feet high with dark green leafs and pink and purple flowers. He tries to remember if the botanist told him about this plant, but there were a lot of plants, and a lot of them had pink or purple flowers.

He walks up to the plant, the sweet smell growing stronger, but not in a cloying, overwhelming way like perfume. The scent is a little different now, muskier and fresher, with a hint of citrus. “I hope you’re not one of the poisonous ones,” he mutters, leaning in to inhale the scent.

Definitely citrus in there as well, mixed in with the sweetness. He reaches out to touch one of the petals, and then a thin mist of spores shoots out from the centre. Sam flinches and blinks, and starts to cough.

He steps back from the plant, doubling over as he keeps coughing. Eventually, it passes, and he can breathe normally again. The spores must be some kind of defence mechanism against insects. He eyes the plant suspiciously, as if it’s about to leap out of the ground.

“No more touching any plants,” he mutters to himself, then keeps walking.

*

About half an hour later, Sam is starting to feel sweaty, and not just from the exertion and the heat. He knows what that kind of sweating feels like, and this isn’t it. He’s feeling warm, and pausing for a moment and taking a big gulp of water isn’t helping.

He can’t help but think of the spores, and he considers calling the Dora Milaje. They might not be botanists, but they probably know about dangerous plants in the area.

Sam takes another sip, thinking it over. It might be nothing. It might just be his body reacting to the exertion in a climate he’s not used to. He looks up at the towers in the distance, and figures he should head back. If he starts feeling worse and does need to call for help, at least he’ll be closer to safety.

*

It’s about thirty minutes after that, and something is definitely wrong. He’s feeling itchy all over, his clothes rough and uncomfortable against his skin, and part of him keeps thinking that it would be better to take his clothes off.

That same part also keeps thinking that he should take a break and have a nice jerk-off session, which, where the hell does that thought keep coming from? Sam likes nature, but it’s not a turn-on and he’s never had any sort of outdoor sex fantasies before.

But the thought is an appealing one, and there’s no one else around. He could easily strip off, sit down on the ground, wrap his hand around his cock and pleasure himself.

His cock hardens, but Sam shakes his head. No, he has to focus.

Something is wrong, and he needs to call for help.

He dials the number for the Dora Milaje, and is relieved when someone picks up quickly. “This is Ayo, do you require assistance?”

“Yes,” Sam replies. “Yeah, I do. Uhm, it’s Sam, by the way.”

“Ah. His Majesty informed me you wished to go for a walk. Has something gone wrong?”

“You could say that,” he mutters, trying not to think that Ayo’s voice sounds really sexy right now, and that he can definitely see the appeal of phone sex. “I’m feeling kind of… warm.“

“That is to be expected in Wakanda.”

“Not like that,” he replies, a little annoyed. “It’s different. And I feel itchy.”

There is a long silence. “Has anything happened during your walk that might have caused you to feel this way?”

Sam sighs. “Well, there was this one plant… I touched it and its spores got in my face. It had pink and purple flowers.”

“I see. Are there any other symptoms you are experiencing?”

Is he imagining things, or is there a hint of amusement in Ayo’s voice? “Why do you ask?” he hedges, because the last thing he wants is to tell Ayo that his cock is hard and that he’s trying very hard not to touch himself.

“Because it will help me determine your problem,” she replies, “and how to solve it. I need to ascertain whether or not your life is in danger.”

Right, of course, she’s a professional bodyguard, assessing dangerous situations is what she does, and she needs to have all the information available. “I’m, er, feeling a little… turned on,” he manages, then feels himself flush. This is ridiculous.

“You are experiencing arousal?”

“Yes!” he snaps. “Yes, I am experiencing arousal, all right? Now can you please tell me how to fix it?”

“Hang on for a moment.”

“Wait!” he shouts, then groans when he hears a dial tone. “No, come on, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell!” He sighs. Well, whatever he is experiencing, it is almost definitely because of the plant.

He sits down on the ground, his back against a tree, and tries to ignore his hard-on. He rests his other hand on his knee, and clenches it into a fist. No, he’s not gonna touch himself. Not until he knows what the hell is going on.

“Sam?”

It’s T’Challa’s voice, and Sam feels relieved. Ayo wasn’t annoyed or offended, she must’ve thought that T’Challa would be more suited to help Sam. “Hey, yeah, it’s Sam. Uhm, how much did Ayo tell you?”

“She told me you had come across one of our aphrodisiac plants, and were now experiencing its effects.”

“That’s one way to put it, yeah,” Sam mutters, briefly glancing at his groin. “So, uhm, what do I do now? Is there another plant that cancels out the effects?”

“Yes, but you’d have to go deeper into the jungle, and I do not feel that is safe in your current condition. You might get lost, or distracted, and end up hurt.”

“I would _not_ ,” Sam argues, because he’s not an idiot. He wouldn’t get distracted just because he’s horny as hell and the urge to shove his trousers down and jerk himself off is growing stronger by the minute. “Tell me where those other plants are.”

“No.”

“What?”

“No, I will not tell you. You will stay where you are, and you will tell me your exact location,” T’Challa tells him.

Sam wants to protest, but part of him thinks that T’Challa telling him what to do is pretty hot. “Or else?”

“Or else you will not receive help, and instead will be stuck in your current, unpleasant condition,” T’Challa says, his tone cool. “Now, tell me where you are. What route did you take?”

There is definitely something about the detached way T’Challa is talking to him that’s making Sam’s cock throb. He closes his eyes, tries to ignore those thoughts, and focuses on telling T’Challa what he needs to know, starting with how he left the city.

T’Challa is mostly quiet, only asking a few questions here and there. Focusing on his route helps take his mind off of other things, like how sexy T’Challa’s accent is, or how soothing his voice is, and how Sam wishes T’Challa was right here, murmuring something other than ‘and for how long did you head south?’ in his ear. He has to pause every now and then to get his mind back on track, and has to bite back a groan when a wave of arousal hits him. He hopes T’Challa didn’t hear that. “And that’s where I am now,” he says, then describes the buildings he can still see, his breath hitching a little.

“Thank you, Sam,” T’Challa says eventually. “Unfortunately, the GPS system can only pinpoint your location to the nearest 500 yards or so, but I think I know where you are.” 

Sam frowns. Of course there’s a GPS system on his phone, so why didn’t T’Challa mention that before? If he already knew that Sam was somewhere to the east, why did he have Sam describe his route out of the city? “Good,” Sam replies.

He opens his eyes and looks down, and notices that his other hand has been sliding up his thigh, inching closer and closer to his groin. He grunts, and moves it to the ground.

“Is something wrong?” T’Challa asks.

“No,” Sam replies, because he can’t exactly tell T’Challa that he really _really_ wants to jerk off. “How long until help gets here?”

“It should not take too long. Until then, stay where you are.”

“Don’t worry,” Sam says, “I am not moving a muscle.”

“Good.”

With that, T’Challa hangs up.

It’s only when Sam slides his phone back into his backpack that he realises that T’Challa hasn’t told him _how_ they’ll help Sam. Presumably, whoever is sent out here will have an antidote to the aphrodisiac, something to get rid of the arousal and the thoughts that keep popping up. Talking to T’Challa has been a good distraction from them, but he can’t exactly call T’Challa and ask him to keep asking questions just to keep Sam from jerking off.

He has self-control, after all, and he’s pretty sure that ‘jerking off in the jungle’ is against Wakandan etiquette.

But would it really be so bad? After all, no one will know. Sam can probably finish jerking off before whoever is sent to help him gets here, and it would be so good to get some relief. His cock has been pressing against his trousers insistently for some time now, and it’s getting more and more difficult to ignore how horny he’s feeling.

He looks at the towers in the distance, then glances around himself, as if T’Challa or one of the Dora Milaje will jump out of the bushes around him and catch him in the act.

Sam palms himself through his trousers, hissing in pleasure, and tries to push that mental image away. No, he doesn’t want T’Challa or Ayo or anyone else seeing him like this. He can imagine the look of disapproval on T’Challa’s face already, towering over Sam while Sam’s still sitting down.

Why the hell does that make his cock twitch urgently? He’s not even into exhibitionism, and he’s _definitely_ not into T’Challa, even if he is a handsome man with an impressive body hidden under that skin-tight Black Panther suit…

Sam scowls as he pulls his hand away. That plant must have a very powerful aphrodisiac effect, if it’s making him react like this to T’Challa.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out. He palms himself again, and keeps his eyes on the lush green plants in front of him. He tries to keep his mind empty, focusing only on the pleasure, and not on how good it would feel if someone else was doing this to him.

Soon, he’s undoing his belt and unbuttoning his trousers, pushing them down along with his boxers, until his bare ass hits the path beneath him. He’s too horny to care about the dirt, and wraps his hand around his aching cock. “Oh yes,” he moans, closing his eyes. Oh yes, he should’ve done this earlier.

He moves his fist up and down slowly, groaning as he swipes his thumb across the tip. Oh God, he’s leaking pre-come already. Sam shifts to get more comfortable, spreading his thighs a little. His other hand is resting on the ground beside him, his fingers digging into the earth.

“Oh God,” he groans, speeding up his movements. Normally, he likes to build it up, tease himself a little, but now he just wants to come. He feels hot and flushed all over, his hips thrusting up. “Oh fuck!”

He moans again, can feel his orgasm build inside of him. Only a few more strokes of his wrist now. He swipes across the tip of his cock again, and he whimpers. It feels so good.

It keeps feeling good.

It keeps feeling the same.

There’s no release, no orgasm, not even when Sam knows he’s on the brink. He keeps jerking off, grunting as he does so. He’s doing it exactly the way he likes, with a nice, tight grip, but he’s not coming.

That can’t be right. Why can’t he come?

He relaxes his grip, and moves his wrist up and down more slowly. Maybe he just needs a change of pace to get him off.

“C’mon,” he grunts, glaring down at his groin. His cock has been aching for an hour, why can’t it get with the program? “C’mon!”

He keeps pumping his fist up and down, and eventually wipes the dirt off his other hand using his t-shirt, and fondles his balls. It feels good, but it doesn’t add anything. It doesn’t make him come. “For fuck’s sake,” he mutters, closing his eyes. “Please, c’mon. Please.” He really wants to come. He’s so horny, it’s getting unbearable.

He finds himself sliding further down until he’s lying on the path, knees spread to give himself enough space, both hands between his legs. “Please,” he whimpers.

“Sam?”

He freezes with his hand around his cock, and opens his eyes.

T’Challa is standing a few feet away from him, dressed casually in some dark brown trousers and a black t-shirt, as if he just happens to be on a nice walk himself.

“What?” Sam manages, then pulls his t-shirt down to cover himself. “What?”

T’Challa sighs. “I suppose I should have told you that masturbation was useless,” he says calmly. “You cannot achieve climax on your own.”

Sam is still staring at T’Challa. He can’t really be here, can he? T’Challa is the king, he’s too busy to rescue Sam personally.

Oh, right, rescue. T’Challa must have the antidote with him.

“The antidote?” he asks, trying to ignore the way his t-shirt rubs against his cock.

“I already told you, the plants that cancel out the effects are too far away.” T’Challa frowns a little. “That is why I needed to know your location, Sam. I am here to aid you.”

“What?”

“Have I not just informed you that you cannot achieve climax on your own?” T’Challa sighs again, looking away for a moment. “Climax will cancel out the plant’s aphrodisiac effects as well. It is a lot easier than going deeper into the jungle to get the other plant.”

Sam’s brain is struggling to think. T’Challa is here, and looking very attractive, even if he’s wearing looser clothing than Sam would like. T’Challa is also here to help him come, and that thought has his cock throb eagerly. “You want to have sex with me?”

T’Challa shrugs. “It is the simplest solution. As King, I am responsible for the well-being of my visitors, and there aren’t many Wakandans you know well enough for this. I assumed you would want to have sex with someone you knew.” There is a hint of a question at the end of that sentence.

Sam nods. “Oh, yeah, definitely.” He’s definitely fine with sex with T’Challa.

T’Challa gives him a small, pleased smile. “Wonderful. Now, please, get on your hands and knees, that will make things easier for me.”

Sam is already scrambling to get into position, and only when he is, does he realise _why_ T’Challa wants him in this position. “Wait,” he says, “you want to fuck me?”

“Yes,” T’Challa replies, and from the corner of his eyes, Sam can see him kneel down behind him. “It is the most practical.” He pulls Sam’s trousers and boxers further down, out of the way, and pushes his t-shirt up.

Sam tries not to moan. It feels good, having someone else touch him. T’Challa’s hands stroking his back are soothing on his heated skin. “Why can’t I fuck you?”

T’Challa’s hand freezes on Sam’s lower back. “Because I have already decided I will fuck you. It really is the most practical this way.”

Maybe T’Challa means that this is way is more effective? Whatever, Sam is all right with T’Challa fucking him if it means hands gliding across his skin.

T’Challa strokes Sam’s ass and the back of his thighs, then pulls his hands away.

Sam turns his head to see what T’Challa is doing, and sees that T’Challa has taken a tube from one of his pockets. It seems to be some sort of lotion. “What’s that?”

T’Challa gives him a slight smile. “I believe you would call it ‘lube’,” he replies. “It will ease things for you and me.” He squirts some more onto his middle and index finger. “It is actually made with local plants. They have a slight numbing effect.”

That does sound nice. Sam grits his teeth when T’Challa slides one finger inside of him. The lube is cool and slick, and T’Challa’s finger goes in easily. It’s not long before he adds a second. Sam doesn’t notice any numbing effects, but it does feel pretty good.

He finds himself pushing back, then rocking back and forth onto T’Challa’s fingers.

“I am surprised you asked if you could fuck me,” T’Challa murmurs. “You seem very eager, Sam.”

He lets out a slight groan when T’Challa adds a third finger. “Just hurry,” he manages.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” T’Challa tells him, and keeps fingering him.

Sam’s own fingers dig into the dirt beneath him. He tries not to moan with every breath he takes, but damn, T’Challa definitely knows what he’s doing. It’s not enough to make him come, but it’s better than jerking off. “You won’t,” he groans. “Just fuck me.”

Sam tells himself he’s only eager because the sooner T’Challa fucks him, the sooner this will all be over, and he won’t be desperate to be fucked.

“If you are sure.”

“Yes!” When T’Challa pulls his fingers out, Sam automatically pushes back. His breathing is rough as he waits, and listens to T’Challa deal with his own clothes. His body is hot with anticipation, and his cock is aching. He needs T’Challa inside of him, now.

He looks behind him, and stares as T’Challa wraps his hand around his thick cock, spreading the lube over it. He tries not to whimper at the sight of it, at knowing that’s gonna be inside of him soon.

Finally, T’Challa decides that his cock is slick enough, because he puts one hand on Sam’s hip, and uses the other to guide his cock.

Sam expects the tip to be prodding his asshole, but instead, T’Challa nestles his cock between Sam’s cheeks, and slides it back and forth. He’s spreading some of the remaining slick, as well as teasing Sam.

“C’mon!” he says, hanging his head. “C’mon, fuck me.”

“You ask _so_ nicely,” T’Challa replies, not sounding impressed. “If you are sure, Sam.”

“Yes! Fuck me!”

T’Challa lets out a huff, and then Sam feels something prod his asshole. It’s two of T’Challa’s fingers, working him open again, but after a few seconds they are gone, replaced by something thicker.

It takes some pushing from T’Challa to slide it in, and Sam hisses as his hole is stretched around T’Challa’s cock, so much thicker than his fingers, but it doesn’t hurt all that much. He breathes through the sharp pain, then pushes his hips back, eager for more.

T’Challa’s grip on Sam’s hip, still with one hand, as the other is wrapped around his cock, tightens. “Sam,” he says, his voice low. “Stay still. I don’t want to rush this.”

“Well, I do,” Sam replies, glancing over his shoulder. T’Challa is frowning slightly. “There’s no need to go slow.”

Another huff. “Fine. I will not go slow.” And with that, T’Challa pushes in hard, holding Sam’s hips with both hands.

Sam moans and whimpers as T’Challa fills him, sliding deeper and deeper until T’Challa’s cock is fully inside of him. “Oh fuck,” he moans, “oh fuck.”

“Does it hurt?” T’Challa asks, running one hand soothingly up and down Sam’s thighs.

It does and it doesn’t. He’s stretched tight around T’Challa’s cock, and there’s an ache from T’Challa simply shoving in like that, but Sam wants more. He wants to come. “No,” he says, “no, now fuck me.”

T’Challa starts out slow, with shallow thrusts. “I thought I was doing that already.”

Sam moans, pushing his hips back, wanting more. “Harder.” This still isn’t enough to make him come.

“You know, a lot of Wakandan couples use the spores during their wedding night,” T’Challa tells him, and somehow, T’Challa’s voice sounds calm and even, as if he isn’t buried balls deep inside Sam’s ass. “They take their time. They do not rush things. They have all night.”

He really doesn’t want a lecture on Wakandan wedding traditions right now. “Just fuck me and make me come, _please_ ,” he says, then moans. His hips are rocking back and forth.

“So you _can_ be polite,” T’Challa says, and then starts fucking him harder, his balls slapping against Sam’s ass.

Sam cries out at the sudden sensations. “Oh God, yes,” he moans, whimpering with every breath. “Yes, yes, oh fuck, yes.” This is what he needs. Faster, harder, deeper, with T’Challa’s fingers digging into his hips, sharp nails almost drawing blood.

“Good?” T’Challa asks, and Sam is pleased to notice that T’Challa’s breathing is more ragged now.

“Very,” Sam manages, closing his eyes. He’s definitely close to coming, he can feel it build up inside of him. “Please, harder.” He can be polite and say ‘please’ if it gets him more pleasure.

T’Challa speeds up, driving deeper into Sam, and grunting with every thrust.

“C’mon, yes, fuck,” Sam mutters under his breath, pushing back harder, still needing more.

T’Challa pulls Sam back by his hips, thrusting faster, and that’s what pushes Sam over the edge.

He’s coming, and he can feel it through his entire body, a slow wave of pleasure rolling through him until there’s nothing but white-hot bliss. He’s moaning and whimpering and he doesn’t want it to end.

But that feeling fades, and Sam is still disoriented as he opens his eyes to stare at the dirt. He barely even notices T’Challa’s cock twitching inside of him and T’Challa groaning as he comes himself.

Sam is still on his hands and knees when T’Challa pulls out of him, and he doesn’t move until he feels T’Challa’s hand on his back. “Huh,” he says, turning around to face T’Challa, who is also still sitting down, with his cock is resting against his inner thigh. “Huh.”

“I assume you are no longer aroused?” T’Challa asks, and Sam can tell he’s trying to sound calm, but there’s a tremor in his voice.

“No. No, I’m fine.” Sam stares at him. Now that his ability to think is coming back, he’s thinking a lot of things. Like how embarrassing this is. And how great it felt. And that he doesn’t entirely believe T’Challa saying that he came here because it was his duty as King and he thought it was best if Sam got help from someone he knew.

“Good,” T’Challa says, and he moves so he can pull up his trousers and make himself decent.

Sam gets the hint. The matter has been dealt with, and they’re not going to discuss it. At least, not immediately. “Just promise me one thing.”

T’Challa eyes him a little suspiciously. “What?”

“Don’t tell Steve.” Sam trusts Steve with a lot of things, but this is something he wants to keep between himself and T’Challa. And Ayo, he supposes, but Ayo doesn’t seem like the type to gossip.

T’Challa’s carefully neutral expression turns into a genuine smile. “You have my word that Steve will not hear a word about this from me,” he replies, “nor will anyone else.”

“Good,” Sam replies firmly. Today has been weird enough without having to deal with Steve’s reaction to it.

Dealing with his own reaction will be enough of a challenge as it is.

 


End file.
